


A Man Worth A Thousand Melodies

by Milkie_127



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Football | Soccer, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkie_127/pseuds/Milkie_127
Summary: Nakamoto Yuta is Asia's most popular football player, Kim Doyoung its most popular singer. As the 2020 World Cup approaches, they are asked to represent the continent worldwide. Together.





	A Man Worth A Thousand Melodies

Doyoung never liked football. 

Ever since he was a kid, he always preferred cartoons, videogames and music. Music in particular, after finding out how singing in front of the mirror with his toothbrush in hand – dreaming of becoming a superstar – could make him feel rushes of excitement running down his spine the way watching matches with his older brother and father never did. His father, however, never stopped mentioning it was a shame his son didn't share their passion for Manchester United.  
Doyoung thought he could survive. 

It took him long to become the superstar he always wanted to be, sacrifices Doyoung thought he could never really overcome without the wholesome support his family gave him, always doing their best not to make him feel like an outsider in a family of notorious athletes. They were there when Doyoung auditioned for Korea's biggest entertainment company at the age of 16, they were there when he dropped out of school despite his insecurities and pride over his scholastic career. Because Doyoung’s voice was worth the risk and his entire neighbourhood was there to remind him too. 

“You are an amazing human, you've got the voice of an angel. You will make it.” came his mother supportive words as she walked him to his audition, and Doyoung appreciated them even though he knew the woman was probably only chasing her chance to meet Jung Yunho of TVXQ.  
Doyoung took no offence, he had his idols, too.

After a successful first try audition and a contract signed not even three weeks later, Doyoung’s life started making sense. He trained for three years, years in which he quickly understood the hardship of the idol life, but nowhere in the process he thought of giving up his dream, not even after months of sweat, pain and the loneliness of training with people who would eventually walk other paths. For him, his company chose the solo singer career after months and months of discussions, claiming he had the look to pull people in, the voice to amaze them and the right personality to entertain them.

To be true to those claims, Doyoung became a big name quick after debut.  
He proved himself to be not only an exceptional singer but also an activist for equal rights, he took the risk to speak his mind against any pre-constructed social norm in his society and got signed to make-up and fashion brands, raising as a top name both nationally and internationally.

Three years into his debut, Doyoung’s reputation across the entire Asian continent – and the one built among his faithful fans all over the globe – cost him the appellative of ‘Prince of Asia’. 

Giving a final, quick look to his path as a singer, his family and colleagues insisted it was unsurprising that Doyoung got asked to represent Asia in the upcoming World Cup, taking place in Japan that year. His label considered the offer for long and discussed with the 24 years old singer his opinion on the matter, Doyoung finding himself unable to deny such an opportunity would have meant – for the very first time – to see his name shining there where he never expected it too.

Doyoung, after all, never liked football.

“That is no problem.” Moon Taeil, his manager, told him as he studied the long contract Doyoung had been offered, "The problem is, do you want to do it?”  
“Do you seriously think I can refuse?” Doyoung replied, his mind already wandering to all the activities he would be forced to do if he signed. The long contract listed them for him: registration of the World Cup official song, music video filming, press conferences, advertising, global meetings, attendance of /at least/ the opening and closing matches of the World Cup. Faking interest in football, above all.

He sighed as he crossed eyes with Taeil, both shaking their heads. He was too young to refuse a FIFA contract, and he was not naive enough to think he could not need the exposure.

Doyoung signed.

-

“I can't believe you're going to work with Nakamoto Yuta.”

Doyoung was packing his stuff, having to leave for Tokyo for three weeks to start his activities as a World Cup icon, when his father sent him a big, disappointed frown from his position on the couch. Doyoung sent him a look of confusion.

“Nakamoto Yuta, Japanese football prodigy, 25 and already in Manchester United with a series of records broken in 7 years of career.” Doyoung rolled his eyes at the explanation. Apparently, this big name of football – Japanese of origin – was the equivalent in football of what Doyoung was in entertainment: Asia's prince, Asia’s pride.

Newspapers and talk shows all over the continent wasted no time to highlight the upcoming collaboration between the two like it was a big issue, yet Doyoung couldn't see it. His manager told him it was inevitable, as this Yuta guy was literally worshipped in Japan, then added it could be useful to learn something about the sport while keeping the ‘I’m so glad to represent Asia at the 2020 World Cup in Japan’ act ongoing.

“You're so lucky” his father insisted, slamming his newspaper on the couch. “Tell me you can set up a meeting, Doyoung, I'd pay you.”  
“Dad...” Doyoung sighed, “Aren't you exaggerating a little? He's just a football pla –”  
"He's a God."

Doyoung rolled his eyes again. He spent the rest of the day dealing with his father obnoxious fanboying over a young Japanese man – rather embarrassing – and his mother nagging to remind him of all the things he was supposed to do to be safe abroad. He wondered when and if ever the woman would come to accept that he travelled abroad more than he stayed home.

The flight to Tokyo was quiet, nothing different from all the ones Doyoung already had. Taeil snored the whole time next to him and Doyoung took just another photo of him before getting absorbed into his little research about basic football knowledge in a sudden scruple of conscience.  
He never cared to look up Nakamoto Yuta’s name.

-

Doyoung didn't care about Nakamoto Yuta’s name once he arrived in Tokyo, either.  
To be fair, he would have probably forgotten about it if his manager hadn't started fanboying just like his father, listing facts about the football player in a high-pitched voice once he woke up from his good flight nap.  
“He’s coming in a couple of days. Lots of great football players are coming. This music video is going to be epic.”  
The man’s voice tone jumped in excitement at almost any news he read on the papers some FIFA staff members gave them at their first meeting. Doyoung, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows as he stumbled on the info for the World Cup official song: it would have been recorded in four languages: Korean, Chinese, Japanese and English. Taken aback, he could not deny the thought of his upcoming work was starting to excite him.

He then forgot about his football research and instead started focusing all his energy on the lyrics, especially the Japanese ones since he was not a brilliant Japanese speaker. Doyoung considered needing help for that, as two days later he was still stuck on the foreign words. He spent the afternoon in the hall of his five starts Hotel studying, papers in hands, and no intentions of being disturbed whatsoever.

Except a big, sudden mess exploded outside the hotel's entrance, forcing Doyoung to interrupt his studying to catch up with what he quickly assumed were new costumers. In a moment, a long flow of people started entering the building, surrounded by huge bodyguards and leaving a crowd of screaming people outside. Doyoung stared in disbelief. Not that he was unused to similar things – his relationship with his fans breaking boundaries always problematic – but it was unpleasant to watch the scene more than it was to live it.

Eventually, he supposed the football players had arrived. He saw big and muscular men entering the main doors of the luxurious hotel one after one, all of them escorted by at last three guards. Outside, he caught a glimpse of police cars and an excited crowd trying to fight those who were blocking them from taking decent photos of the players. Doyoung knew the feeling well, and quickly decided he did not want to watch a second more. He stood up from his seat and made to walk towards the elevators to go back to his room when he noticed the queue had already turned messier than the river of people rushing inside.  
He sighed.

Sitting again, he tried to go back focusing on his lyrics and eventually gave up, pointing annoyed eyes at all the people and staff members overcrowding the hall. Then, his attention drifted back to the entrances. 

There, the last of the players entered the hotel with five guards around him. The young man was waving at the screaming crowd outside despite a big man walking him safely inside and once in the hall, he still held a polite expression seeming genuinely thankful for the immense support he was receiving. Doyoung saw him gesturing to the man beside him that he could let go now, then proceeding to greet all the staff around with deep bows and a huge, bright smile on his face. He was wrapped in dark, casual clothes yet he looked like he could shine on his own. Everyone could have easily told he was a star.

Doyoung saw all the people pointing at him while holding their breath, almost like the sole sight of the man removing his glasses had become the Hotel’s momentary only focus. He was disturbingly handsome, Doyoung dared to notice.

He wondered if that was Nakamoto Yuta.

-

He discovered he was at dinner.

Taeil dragged him down to the restaurant earlier than usual and Doyoung couldn’t help a shiver at the sight of how well dressed the man was when normally, appearance had never been Taeil’s primary focus. On top of that, the man had forced Doyoung to dress up just as formally, making the young man impossibly irritated. Doyoung quickly realised there could only be one reason to all of that: the Japanese football legend waiting for them at his table, a polite smile on his face.

Doyoung punched Taeil as discretely as possible when the man squealed at the sight of Nakamoto Yuta, then he observed as the famous prince of Japan stood up to greet them both with a deep bow.

“Hello, I'm Nakamoto Yuta, nice to meet you.” it all started like that.

Yuta shook Doyoung’s hand and offered a smile after his Korean greeting, the same smile that made Taeil sigh lovingly as he touched Yuta’s stretched hand.  
“It’s such an honour to meet you, Yuta-san. I'm Moon Taeil, and this is my client, Kim Doyoung.”  
Doyoung found himself unprepared when his turn to shake Yuta’s hand arrived, both because Taeil was being embarrassing and because Yuta’s face – he decided – truly disturbed him. Most positively.  
“Let's work hard together.” Yuta said, shaking Doyoung’s hand firmly and waking the man up from his trance. Doyoung nodded.

Taeil and Doyoung seemed to be at war, that night, both giving the other suspicious looks and being dissatisfied with either Taeil doing too much or Doyoung doing little nothing. Doyoung received a little smack on his butt but then Yuta offered to take a seat and their cold war got put on hold. The three of them were soon joined by two women – both executive managers for FIFA – and as dinner began most of the upcoming business were discussed. Doyoung listened quietly, not much interested as he had already studied a lot on his own, and instead focused on their food while stealing glances of Yuta's extremely focused face now and then.

“Can I voice an objection?” the player said at one point, dropping silence on the entire table. Politely, but vigorously, he continued: “These lyrics are simply disappointing. All four versions. There's just... no emotions, no heart in them. Football is about passion, the World Cup is the biggest sports event worldwide: it should be about unity and hope. Where’s all of this?”

Yuta’s passionate words stunned the table, and a little confused Doyoung, too. He was staring at Yuta in a mix of disbelief and unexpected awe. It was like he could see something like football under a new light, for how sceptical he had always been toward the sport, because Yuta’s passion seemed so precious and wasting it over few marketing moves would have been an unforgivable, vile move. 

“Well... what do you suggest?” one of the two women asked, and Doyoung noticed his sentiment was probably shared by all people at the table.  
He then saw Yuta turning to face him. “I offer to work on the lyrics if you are okay with it.”  
It took Doyoung a few seconds to understand Yuta was talking to him. Meanwhile, the man repeated himself, but in flawless Korean this time.  
“I don't want to bother you” Yuta added, “I suppose you already studied the lyrics well.”

Doyoung, all eyes fixed on him, gave up to a smile. “The lyrics are indeed bland, I noticed too.”  
Yuta looked relieved.  
“We can work on them together, then–mind and heart.”

For dessert, an enthusiastic Taeil forced himself out the dinner to leave Doyoung and Yuta some time to get to know each other, and offered the staff members a drink to lead both outside the restaurant as well. He sent Doyoung an eloquent look, but the singer already knew the considerable amount of work to do together meant he could not escape Nakamoto Yuta any longer.  
Doyoung felt a bit uncomfortable, if anything because he didn’t feel like wanting to escape Nakamoto Yuta at all anymore. He had never expected his partner to be such a passionate and convincing person and, admittedly, his own prejudice about the football player turning out to be a brainless, muscular empty bag with an immodest behaviour embarrassed him. Most time he overheard his family’s talks about football never left a good impression on him, but Yuta seemed to be the opposite of that all. 

Gently, the football player smiled at him as they were left alone.  
“I really hope this won’t bother you. I know it adds work, and you're probably pretty busy already.”  
Doyoung consumed his dessert quietly, shaking his head. “It's okay. I like to do things well. Besides, I suppose you are way busier than I am.” as Yuta wore a pensive expression, he added, “Your Korean is outstanding, by the way.”  
“Thank you.” the man answered with a flushed face, making Doyoung inevitably smile in a surprisingly fondly way. He saw Yuta collecting his thoughts like a story was coming and realised he was curious to listen. “It’s actually funny to talk about it with someone like you. You know, when I was a lot younger, I attended a TVXQ’s concert with my family and almost gave up on football to become like them.”  
Doyoung blinked, “Really?”  
Yuta laughed breathily. “My mother would have supported me, I guess, but I had already given too much to football. I still learned Korean, though.”  
“This is so odd.” Doyoung admitted, “My mother is the biggest TVXQ fan on earth. She’s part of the reason why I auditioned for SM Entertainment and this is... I mean, what are the odds?” 

The story cleared Doyoung’s mind in ways he thought could be unimaginable.  
He looked at the smiling, beautiful face in front of him and suddenly saw nothing but a man of passion, a man just like him, and not the football player of a distant world anymore. Trained as an idol, it came easy for him to study Yuta’s features and notice how his manners were irresistible, how a smile like his could make anybody fall. Without second thoughts, he added: “Perhaps we could have met.”  
“Well, we still met,” Yuta said with an unexplainably tender voice. “And this is probably the oddest thing: what were the chances?”  
Doyoung decided he just couldn’t believe it. He couldn't believe such a passionate human could belong to a world like football. Or maybe, it was probably just Doyoung being wrongly biased about Yuta’s world, the thought making him feel guilty.  
“The ways of Fate are unlimited.”  
With surprising contentment, he noticed Yuta’s eyes sparkle as he smiled, a vision Doyoung could easily grow fond of if he had to be completely honest.  
“It was Fate, then.” Yuta claimed, “I can make my country proud while living a little bit of the dream I left in my closet.”  
Doyoung didn’t know why, but his words came out in total freedom like he blindly believed it even though he had known that man for less than 2 hours. “You would have made your country proud either way. I can–definitely see it.” 

He noticed Yuta being deeply bashful about the topic and the sense of protection it sparkled into Doyoung’s chest was just another of the many unattended surprises of the evening. 

“Thank you, Doyoung-sshi. About the lyrics, I had a few corrections in mind already. Shall we discuss them tomorrow–at lunch, perhaps?"

It was an entertaining feeling, Doyoung thought, how he could feel like this business partnership could feel so casual and friendly now that he knew what kind of person Yuta seemed to be. It was one of those rare first times in which Doyoung felt like there were no needs to be wary and reserved, something rare in his industry.

“Sure.” he replied. It was strangely hard to stop smiling. “Do you have some kind of experience with lyrics already?”  
Yuta giggled and it made new things to Doyoung’s stomach, the sight of small wrinkles forming at the corner of his huge eyes. "During my idol-phase, I just trained my voice as I could. I’m ridiculously ignorant about anything else.”  
“It’s fair, I’m extremely ignorant about football.” Doyoung finally admitted, “Instead, you chose football.”  
“I'd rather say football chose me.”

Doyoung still couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that perhaps, in a different universe, their paths could have met as different people, with different goals, different possibilities. It was wholesome to look at that person so close and feel like he could have been part of his life no matter the background, no matter how short it was since he walked into your life. Noticing the thoughtful expression on Doyoung’s face as his mind wandered, Yuta then said, “I’m a fan, by the way.”

It took Doyoung a moment to appreciate the gently offered compliment. He thought he had been so uncaring of Yuta’s existence, lost in his own ignorance, that the idea of the man knowing him never crossed his mind. He also didn't realise he was blushing until Yuta giggled again, “Did I embarrass you, Doyoung-sshi?”

“It's okay.” Doyoung shook his hands vehemently. “I just–didn’t expect it.”  
He had never been comfortable with compliments but the way Yuta acted simply awakened forgotten feelings, the kind of genuine surprise he would have felt during his debut days, like he was never the top star he had become. What if he ended up disappointing this person who just called himself ‘a fan’? Almost like his train of thoughts was making too much noise, Yuta then offered to walk him to his room, mannered in ways even someone as reserved as Doyoung could not refuse. 

“I thought you were nice, but you’re… actually a lot nicer.” The man added as they rode the elevator, once again striking a perfect timing to save Doyoung from his own, unexpected goofiness. Kind of, considering the singer – this time – caught himself blushing.

“I didn't know what to expect, instead.”

The perfect self-protection kind of response Doyoung didn’t want to truly give, but it managed to amuse Yuta. “And? Do you like me?”  
Doyoung averted properly replying with a quick, stolen glance, hand holding his magnetic key on his door. “We’ll work well together." 

It didn't take long for Yuta to understand that was the closest thing to a 'yes' he could expect from a flushed, embarrassed Kim Doyoung on his way to run away from him.

-

Two days later, Doyoung decided Yuta had to be some kind of genius.

The two of them had worked over the official song lyrics diligently and to Doyoung it came naturally to notice how absurdly talented Yuta was with both music and languages – even though he had denied – as he perfectly managed to build harmonic verses with much better lyrics as easily as he breathed. To Doyoung, that made no sense.

As if it wasn’t enough, he then saw Yuta gather all his colleagues to work on a football-inspired choreography with balls, dribbles and a series of steps that missed no beat despite most players being as stiff as sticks. Yuta taught them everything in days, in flawless English, and Doyoung could nothing but admire him from afar.

One afternoon, Taeil – in quality of Yuta’s fanboy – dragged Doyoung along to a studio where Yuta would be posing for a popular Japanese magazine. Doyoung watched in disbelief as the football player naturally followed the photographer's instructions, photogenic enough to wrap up the photo-shoot in less than an hour. Yuta then collaborated with a Chinese designer to refine the official song album cover, apparently suggesting something so mind-blowing the woman finalised his idea with excitement and a grateful hug, zero effort detected. To Doyoung, none of that made sense. He came to think Yuta was either a godly figure sent among common humans, or it was just he being late in realising how special the man truly was.

On the fourth day of their Tokyo stay, Doyoung and a nervous Yuta finally found themselves in the studio to record certain verses of the official song together. It all started when the staff behind the advertising campaign offered Yuta to sing too, taking advantage of his surprisingly pleasing voice and his power over the aimed market.

“I don't want to.” Yuta protested, “I'm not a singer.”  
Doyoung dismissed his fear with a touch on his shoulders. “You’re not a dancer, or a model, nor a designer. Yet you did everything perfectly, until now."

The urge to reassure Yuta came natural, and Doyoung had to admit he didn’t mind being a reason for Yuta to believe in himself there where he couldn’t. So the older offered him a smile, but a guilty look too. “It should be you. You worked so hard on these songs.”  
“We both did.”  
And to cut Yuta’s further protests down, Doyoung took the Japanese lyrics in hand and offered Yuta to share. “Help me with my pronunciation?”

Yuta could not protest any more. The two entered the recording studio among relieved sighs and the way both guided each other, be it over some mispronunciation, be it over some tone imperfection, led to a successful, long recording session. To Yuta, singing together with someone he admired was both challenging and scary but to Doyoung, falling in love with Yuta’s voice was a no way back condemnation. 

It came to the point where Doyoung got tired of finding himself surprised by anything related to the older man and just when he thought he couldn’t get any more annoyed by Yuta’s infinite list of charms, the day ended and he got pulled into a hug so tight, so sweet and comforting, his heart missed a beat.

-

Doyoung had a bit of a stomachache during the night, supposedly to blame on the crazy sushi feast he had treated both Taeil and him to.

He got up late after a horrible night, the first time since he landed in Tokyo that he headed to breakfast after 10 AM. He lazily tried to eat something light, making a tea and forcing himself to eat some bread while sitting at his table with head in hands and lazy eyes on the news of the closer screen.  
When Yuta suddenly appeared at his table, smile as bright as usual, Doyoung blinked and the man asked if he could sit with him.  
“Bad night?”  
With a pout, as it was really easy to tell, Doyoung tried to hide his dark circles and offered Yuta a chair. “Horrible”  
“Something's wrong?”  
“Just a little stomachache.”

Yuta nodded, flashing him a supportive smile and then promising to hand Doyoung some miraculous vitamins for his conditions. Doyoung took short drinks from his cup of tea as he observed the older eating a considerable amount of food, the kind of healthy-but-immense buffet you’d expect from an athlete, and he knew well. He then thought Yuta looked extremely childish in moments like those, one of those in which the fascinating man showed signs of cute, youthful self. He chuckled by himself but the sound stole Yuta’s attention, bringing him to look up from his phone apologetically.  
“Sorry, Doyoung-sshi. I was updating my... social network, or whatever they are called.”  
Doyoung stole a glance. “Instagram?”  
“I guess? I got requested to open this but I just...”

Again, Doyoung chuckled, and Yuta sent him an embarrassed smile before taking a new spoonful of cereals. “I followed you, yesterday. My fans are teasing me a lot because of it.”  
“Are they?”  
“They mock me because they know I am a huge fan of yours, and now we're working together–yet I forgot to follow you all along.”

Doyoung smiled bashfully at those simple words but was given no time to reply that Yuta flashed him a hopeful smile. “Can we take a picture?”  
Doyoung went paler than he already was. “I’m bare-faced–”  
“I am, too.” Yuta shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.  
“But you look good–I don’t.”  
“You look cute.”

Yuta sounded like he would accept no other reality and while Doyoung desperately tried to hide his unhealthy dark circles, the man had already put a hesitant arm around Doyoung’s shoulders and pulled him closer for the camera. Surrounded, Doyoung let out a tiny smile and tried his best to pose with his best angle, something he apparently managed to do as Yuta sheepishly looked at his screen, smile widening. “Too cute.”

Doyoung hid behind the big cup in his hands, wondering what was wrong the man’s eyesight. “Are you posting this? Do you know how it’s done?” Yuta chuckled and made a face to him. Then, pride hurt, he showed the younger how he proceeded to successfully post the shot on his almost empty social profile, particularly caring to highlight the caption written in flawless Korean.

'I'm a lucky boy. Met an angel this morning.’

Doyoung’s stomach burnt in ways no gastritis could compare and Yuta couldn’t notice, giggling by himself as he put the phone aside with such a content expression he looked like a child successfully stealing from a cookie jar.

“I have practice this afternoon,” he then said, “If you feel better, how about you come along and then we go out for dinner?” And just as his words echoed in his mind, their sound suspicious, he quickly added: “There's this place you can’t miss. A little bit of my hometown here in Tokyo.”

Doyoung was still trying to avoid unexpected feelings from twisting his stomach when he considered that he wouldn’t have minded seeing Yuta in action, after all. It would add to the list of things he’d eventually make sure to throw in his father's face at one point.

“Give me those vitamins.” He replied, and Yuta once again knew it was the closest thing to a very excited 'yes' he could have hoped for.

-

Tokyo’s New National Stadium was something breath-taking to see in person.  
Doyoung had never visited before – despite his schedules in Tokyo being kind of consistent – and he simply had to admit the view was awe-worthy. 

Thanks to Yuta – more than to his contract with FIFA – a deeply excited Taeil and him got to sit in the VIP area of the stadium, equipped with comfortable seats, a considerable buffet table and a polite waiter offering his help whenever needed. As they were enjoying their little treats, Yuta was the first of the Japan National Team to come outside and to Doyoung, he appeared like nothing more than a red point moving on the wild field. Stunning how he could still recognise the man for some reasons, just by looking at him from the distance. Yuta eventually spotted them and ran in their direction, giggling as he waved his arms and moved closer.

“Comfortable, up there? How's your stomach-ache?”  
Doyoung mimed 'okay' and the sight brought the player to smile widely before going back to his practice.

From an inexperienced point of views, it did not take Doyoung much to notice how Yuta would move differently from the other payers on the field. His talent was there, so sharp even Doyoung’s confused mind could notice and react with bewilderment. Yuta was fast, precise, smart in his movements. He knew teamwork, he scored goals without even trying and to Doyoung, that seemed enough to know he was a pro. 

“Crush that damn door, Yuta-san, just crush it!”  
Taeil, who was busy filming the entire practice like his life depended on it, made Doyung red in embarrassment, sliding down his chair with the only hope of disappearing into it. “Hyung, please–”  
But Taeil ignored him, keeping his voice loud and cheers questionable before he elbowed Doyoung and exclaimed in a big voice, “This video will make your father so jelly he’ll turn into a pudding.”  
The singer buried his face in his palms.  
People and their obsession with football would always stay a mystery for him. He left Taeil to whatever mental breakdown he was facing and tried to focus on Yuta instead, easily captured by the man’s passion for the sport Doyoung so much despised.

Two hours and three Taeil’s fanboy peaks later, Yuta was done with practice and a long, restoring shower. Not that Doyoung had gotten bored or anything. He realised studying for the World Cup campaign in action was less boring than trying to grasp knowledge from the internet, and it was impossible to get bored with that mixture of Yuta’s top game and Taeil’s excitement anyway.  
When Yuta finally walked out the changing room, Doyoung saw him walking in their direction as a completely different person from the football player of minutes earlier. He had his dark, voluminous curly hair untamed, falling surprisingly graciously on his handsome face, and was wearing a light blue shirt with tight, white pants perfectly wrapped around toned legs in a fit made to leave short of breath. Doyoung felt a little writhe at the pit of his stomach when Yuta smiled at him.

“Was it boring?”  
Yuta greeted them both with one of his sincere bows, Taeil shaking his head with firmness and Doyoung following suit with a sheepish smile. Yuta insisted in waiting for Taeil’s taxi before leaving and that, needless to say, did not help the man’s adoration to tone down. 

Once alone, Yuta caught Doyoung pouting at him. “You're so elegant. You should have told me to dress better.”  
He was wearing smoky jeans and a plain white shirt with a jeans jacket on, but Yuta chuckled and dismissed his worry, “You look good.”  
Despite his protest being cut off, Doyoung still felt lacking.  
Yuta walked them to his car parked in an expensive, fan-safe parking zone of the stadium and if he looked inevitably tired, his expression was the most relaxed.

What left Doyoung particularly struck was the way Yuta’s humbleness shone from each of his breaths. It wasn’t about the clothes he was wearing, the car he was driving or the warm, traditional restaurant he took Doyung to. It was about the way Yuta always made sure everyone around him was fine before himself, how he treated people with nothing but genuine politeness and evident, sincere appreciation for every soul he encountered, how he was the human personification of ‘give strangers a smile, you’ll never know who needs it more than you can imagine’.

Once inside the restaurant, a polite waitress escorted them to their booked table in a rather reserved part of the huge place, but Doyoung’s loud thoughts got interrupted as he noticed how everyone in the main room had already spotted Yuta and was now looking at him with wide eyes, excited eyes. 

Yuta left a gentle touch on his arm as soon as they were left alone, an apologetic smile on his face as he asked Doyoung to sit. “Are you okay?”  
Doyoung tried his best to ease Yuta’s concern. “I am–Just people. Things you never grow used to.”

They took their seats and Yuta nodded, waiting to be served water and some beer to pour Doyoung a glass of both. “You never grow used to the way people treat you when you’re famous, but it’s just as hard to grow used to loneliness.”  
“Are you lonely?” Doyoung asked. For some reasons, he had always believed someone like Yuta could own the world in his palm. Yet, now that he looked at him away from all the lights, the field, the crowds, and the schedules, his eyes seemed to show shades otherwise invisible.  
Yuta did not reply. He did not bring Doyoung to dinner to fall into sad talks about his unhappiness living in the UK. Instead, he shook his head. “I’m not, right now.”  
Doyoung accepted the silence and found comfort in the softness the older was giving him, unable to stop a pleasant feeling of warmth blooming into him as he mirrored Yuta’s smile. It was the first time his feelings got this visibly twisted by someone, by anything outside of music. By a man worth a thousand melodies.

“Me neither.”

They spent the night talking in the most casual, comfortable way, enjoying the great traditional Osaka food Yuta was so desperately craving. Doyoung told him about the idol life, the practices, the busy schedules, about fans, relationships between idols and how he liked to go back home, to his family, on every rare moment of free time. Yuta, on the other hand, told him everything about the player's life, how he left his loving family for Manchester United and how he missed them every day of his life, how his career could be exhausting but the stadium chanting your name with a pure trust could make everything less unbearable.  
Eventually, both couldn't help noticing how not so different their careers were.

Yuta, worth impossible amounts of money for his smart game, surely had a different kind of following to deal with but Doyoung wondered how it felt to have the eyes of the whole world fixed on you, waiting for your slightest mistake or for you to score the relevant goal. He now realised how he never cared to wonder how the pressure felt during those 90 minutes, something his father would passionately talk about on every match, instead.  
Yuta, however, clearly loved his life enough to deal with everything with a light heart.

When he asked Doyoung about his interest in football, kind of expecting it to be equivalent to a big zero, Doyoung seemed as sorry as he never was.  
“Our Kim Doyoung doesn’t care about the National Team, gets bored watching matches, knows nothing about football–it will be torture to be part of the World Cup, for you.”  
Doyoung faked a sigh, “You think I could turn FIFA down? And… you’re kind of changing my attitude, Yuta hyung. Your passion–it makes me feel guilty.”

Smiling triumphantly, the older then looked at Doyoung with a sudden glimpse of excitements.

“I should teach you some basic football, then. Just basic rules, enough to make you understand what is happening on the field.”  
“I've tried to, but miserably failed.”  
“You didn’t have Nakamoto Yuta as your teacher.”

The confident tone made it impossible for Doyoung to turn down the offer.

With evident excitement, Yuta started to educate Doyoung with the most basic football knowledge, from the number of players in a game to the role each of them would cover, Doyoung doing his best to follow but inevitably getting lost as specific words followed specific rules and his brain seemed ready to combust. Still, he couldn’t say he wasn’t entertained by the cute, focused expression on Yuta’s face as he talked, his transport for the topic so evident the table soon turned into an arranged football field: chopsticks, glasses and condiments soon turned into players and Doyoung swore never in his life he had seen something so adorably fulfilling.

Back to their hotel, Doyoung’s knowledge about football had visibly increased and the satisfied smile on Yuta’s bright face was the biggest bonus. The singer, on top of feeling radiant, loved the way Yuta wouldn’t leave his side as they walked back to their rooms, arm gently crossed to his own.

“Wait.” Doyoung exclaimed suddenly, “I think there's still something unclear. ‘Offside’, was that the term?”  
The knowing, slightly teasing smile on Yuta’s face made him frown.  
“’Offside’ is hard to understand.”  
“This either means you're not a good teacher, or–I'm not a good student.”  
His frown intensified as Yuta tenderly shook his head.

“This only means we’ll go out again, Doyoung.”

-

The first day of filming for the four versions of the World Cup official song music videos started like the messiest, most chaotic day of the whole three weeks.

Doyoung, Yuta, all the other popular players called to appear, and troupe members had to move to a newly built set to start the filming. Once arrived, everyone rushed to finalise make-up, hairstyle and dressing, all of that while mentally revising each step and word carefully.

Doyoung had just arrived at his changing room when a stylist came to disturb his quiet revision of the Japanese lyrics to hand him a package.  
“What is this?” he asked, shaking the package while the make-up artist dragged him gracelessly to his seat to get started.  
“It's a present from Yuta-san.” Came the stylist’s reply, and needless to say, it wasn't until make-up and hairstyle were all done that Doyoung could finally unpack his present. It turned out to be a red sweater – one of those he had previously seen official teams players wearing – with his name and favourite number on the back.

“You've opened it.” Yuta’s voice surprised him from the door, as the man sneaked his head inside. Doyoung turned to him with both his eyebrows raised, eyes impossibly wide. “That's from the Japanese National. With your name and everything.”  
Doyoung’s face fell. "But, hyung–”  
“Yes?”  
“My dad’s going to kill me. My fans are going to kill me.”  
It didn’t take long for him to notice the giggles making Yuta’s face shine as he finally entered the room. “Silly. That’s South Korea National Football Team.”  
When Doyoung gave the jacket a more careful look, indeed, he spotted the little South Korean flag printed on the front and sent Yuta a glare. Unbothered, the man hurried to help him wear the jacket in perfect timing for the music video filming. 

“Stunning.” Doyoung heard him say and it didn’t stop him from sending him a betrayed look.  
“How did you do this in less than a week?”  
“None of your business, Kim Doyoung. Let’s go.”

Still pouting, Doyoung had to quickly forget the prank. They reached the set and Yuta introduced him to an impossibly huge amount of players as he could ever remember any of those names.

“Let's work hard together.” he still tried in his decent English, flashing a supportive smile and clapping gratefully as he saw the players cheering for both Yuta and him with unexpected, genuine enthusiasm.  
The filming proceeded smoothly for the upcoming 24 hours until enough shots for four music videos were successfully recorded. Doyoung was familiar with music video shootings, unlike his current partners, and served as the biggest motivation to fight tiredness and wrap up the filming successfully.

It was the filming for individual shots, too: Doyoung’s specialty.

The singer found out it was almost irritating to observe Yuta’s smooth attempts to lip-synch, pose and look stunning for the camera on his first time, just like he was born for it. Overall, everything went well, and the two men smiled as their directors complimented the unexpected chemistry between them.

-

For the second day of filming, the chosen set ended up being the popular Nissan Stadium.  
Large groups of people, including kids, started to quickly fill the area and each of them was set to represent each country for the World Cup. For the filming, Yuta and the other professional players interacted with kids a lot, showing them tricks and parts of their choreographies amid filming. Doyoung, on the other hand, didn't' have to do much. He just tried to have fun with the crowd, attempted to kick the ball to score a goal and looked adorable while failing, all as he mouthed the lyrics Yuta and him had previously worked on and looked for the camera now and then.

The unexpected call came somewhere during the long afternoon.

“Traitor!” from South Korea, his father was fuming. “How dare you go on a date with Yuta without me, Kim Doyoung?”  
Doyoung, who was resting in his fitting room all sweat and breathless with a cup of coffee in hands, rolled his eyes.  
“Did you really just say that with your whole chest.” 

He could hear his father scoff, affronted, and Doyoung admitted it could have been funny if it wasn’t that his father was probably serious. How did he even know, by the way?  
“How do you even know?” he eventually asked. 

Apparently, Doyoung’s fans had been following his activities in Japan closely and whenever official updates happened, stories would spread at the speed of light. Doyoung was used to it, but he missed the part where Yuta had started updating his SNS more since the day they took that first photo. Now, the football player would gladly post about them more often, always with cute captions, and even secretly filmed Doyoung during their music video shooting to post stories to feed both their fans. The singer did not expect it, nor Taeil – who, by the way, was the official manager of his SNS too – ever told him.  
Doyoung had to realise Yuta and him had become a hot topic among his fans and followers, the very first time both of them received attention for their personal relationships instead of their work. He was not bothered by it, though, probably because he liked Yuta sincerely enough to enjoy the attention and not feeling forced into it like it mostly happened in the entertainment industry.  
Yuta definitely looked like the least bothered. He found Doyoung still on the phone when he stepped inside his room to share a snack, and flashed him a curious glance as the younger had given up to his father’s adorableness. When Doyoung hung up, he chuckled in Yuta’s direction.  
“My father. He is a huge fan of yours and is–pretty much jealous.”  
Yuta was touched by the news, but as Doyoung explained it was his whole family being jealous – highlighting how Doyoung coincidently always was the one neglecting Yuta’s existence – he didn’t miss his chance to tease.

“Imagine their reaction if they knew I'd ask their kid out on a proper date.”

Doyoung slapped his thigh at that, fighting the hotness he was feeling on his ears and face as Yuta giggled, looking impossibly soft.

“I'd say yes.”

-

Ever since he had openly admitted that, Doyoung thought he had a problem.

Maybe two.

Firstly, Doyoung considered, he had a crush. A ‘crush’ meaning his chest would not stop banging anytime Yuta walked closer now, in ways that made it impossible for him to even hide it anymore. A big problem, as Doyoung felt it wasn’t just something light and unimportant, but the least he could do was be honest with himself and admit it.

Secondly, it seemed the universe wanted to punish him for some unclear sins and forced him together with the wrong people at the worst time.  
The wrong ‘people’ being Lee Taeyong. 

Lee Taeyong, a rich and successful prodigy of high fashion photography, had been chosen to immortalise Yuta and Doyoung’s experience as World Cup icons in a long pictorial for Vogue Japan and Korea. He had previously worked with Doyoung already – their career starting almost at the same time – and shot after shot their close age and opposite personalities brought them to share an open-hearted, honest love/hate friendship that had nothing to do with mannerism. Doyoung thought it was inevitable that Taeyong was now mocking him, as they had to spend a whole day on set together. 

“Have you asked him out already?” 

Doyoung tried to focus on his luxury clothes, his poses, or even just the lights. Anything but falling for Taeyong’s trap. Except Taeyong had Taeil laughing silently at the side and no intention of letting Doyoung survive the afternoon. “He’s so handsome, and he definitely has a crush on you.”  
“He doesn’t.” Doyoung snorted, glaring as Taeyong sent him a knowing look.  
“I worked with him yesterday and believe me, he does.”

Not even daring to ask what made Taeyong say that, Doyoung insisted it was bullshit.

“Are you in denial, Kim Doyoung?”  
This time, Doyoung rolled his eyes. “Can we please focus on the damn photo-shoot–Please.”

The singer thought Taeyong was just making fun of him and hated himself for being so unable to hide his growing feelings for the older. It was like the only name could make his face drop, like talking about Yuta could make him sound so lovingly it was impossible – for knowing eyes such as Taeyong’s of Taeil’s especially – to deny he had come to like Yuta in non-friendly ways. It didn’t help that Yuta was going to pick him up at the end of the shooting for a bowling night, but Doyoung just couldn't wait to run away from there. And from a deeply amused Taeyong, especially.

“Chemistry. Chemistry is important.” The photographer said last, before deciding he had enough pity for Doyoung to stop teasing him for a while. 

When Yuta arrived, later that evening, Doyoung learnt with horror that Taeyong had still to leave the studio despite the photo-shoot session being over since almost an hour. The singer found the two men talking casually, Taeyong smiling happily as he could finally ask the man for an autograph. He then heard Taeyong call Doyoung’s name and rushed to their side for damage control, making Yuta jump in surprise. Apologetic, the younger melted in a soft smile as soon as their eyes met. 

“You look great.” the player greeted. “I think I’ve never seen your forehead exposed like this.”  
To that, Taeyong raised his shoulders knowingly. “Taeyong knows what’s best for our Doyoungie, doesn’t him?”  
Doyoung flashed him a glare. 

Well knowing what kind of relationship the two shared, Taeil came to avoid a fight by inviting Taeyong out for dinner and leaving a confused Yuta to deal with Doyoung’s nerves. The singer scoffed when his nemesis winked at him as he left, but he had no time for a teasing Lee Taeyong now that Yuta was touching his arm gently.

“Shall we go?”

Once again apologetic toward the older, Doyoung hummed and followed.  
Yuta didn’t seem bothered by the little scene, if anything feeling amused. Yet Doyoung looked particularly tensed as they drove to an intimate, fan-safe bowling alley, and the older thought of easing his nerves by setting one of Doyoung’s albums – Yuta's favourite – on the car's radio, cutely begging the singer to sing along with him.  
“It would be a dream came to life”, said Yuta, and Doyoung had long melted down by then.  
“You think it’s this easy, ah? If you want to hear me singing, come to my concerts.”  
Yuta laughed softly, “Plan a date in Manchester, and I'll be the first to come.”

The words hit Doyoung’s chest like a truck.

All that was happening in those long, exciting three weeks in Tokyo was surreal, beautiful, so unexpected the idol singer found himself forgetting that fundamental detail.

Yuta lived in Manchester.

-

The following day, Yuta invited Doyoung out for a jogging morning and the singer thought he would have given his everything to have the guts to reject Yuta’s kindness.  
He hated jogging, he hated moving, he hated sports and sports hated him back.  
Yuta seemed so unexplainably excited about their morning, though, he even dragged Doyoung to a sports shop to buy him fitting shoes, sweatpants and a jogging t-shirt, items the younger clearly missed.

At least, he thought, he was with Yuta.

And if the football player had spent his entire life running, Doyoung was a completely different story. He made Yuta laugh the entire time, running short and then feeling so tired he had to stop and recover his breath for at least three minutes each time.

“Next time, I dare you to invite me again.”

Doyoung hoped to sound annoyed but to Yuta – who couldn’t stop giggling all along – he sounded nothing but adorable. The older was holding up a never-ending smile for him and he hoped Doyoung would notice.

“I dare you to accept.” he replied, destroying all of Doyoung’s defence. It would have been hard to explain why he could never decline, anyway. 

The fact that Yuta didn’t seem annoyed by his slowing him down despite the games being closer each day was another reason why Doyoung couldn’t totally hate the morning. One hour and 4km later, he could say he had survived and the way Yuta supported him – sore body apart – was worth the effort. He took a moment of calm to silently admire Yuta’s features as he took his breath back, dark, tousled hair framing his sweaty face, unexplainably glowing under the beaming sunlight. 

It stole Doyoung’s breath away.

The sweet football player made sure to walk Doyoung back safe to their hotel before he greeted him, to leave for other three hours of practice with the National Team, and Doyoung decided all that physical activities were pure madness. He took a long, warm and restoring shower, feeling tired like not even his practices ever made him, but as he got out the bathroom he couldn’t help shouting at the sight of Taeil and Lee Taeyong comfortably sitting on his bed. In his room.

“What the hell? I could have been naked!”

Defensive, Doyoung closed his flushed body safe in his bathrobe, fuming as he heard both men bursting into laughter. He couldn’t believe his eyes and glared at Taeil. “You’re the worst manager ever, you know?”  
But Taeil felt untouched by the words, Taeyong and him both unable to stop laughing at the whole scene.  
“Come on now, I've seen you naked millions of times.” Taeyong reminded him, breathless. “Besides, it's not like there's a lot to see.”  
Doyoung glared again.

“What the hell do you even want?” 

As soon as he managed to stop calm down a little, Taeil stepped out of the room to get some coffee and leave the couple of friends to their fights, unwilling to become an innocent victim.

“I go back to Seoul this evening. I’m bored.” Taeyong then said, “So I thought I’d check on my friend with a crush.”  
“We’re not even friends.” Doyoung snorted. He took some fresh clothes from his closet and hid behind the doors to get dressed, making Taeyong giggle. They had been knowing each other for years now, they had been around the other in much more embarrassing situations during rushed schedules, yet Doyoung seemed unable to move on from his bashful self. And in opposite scenarios, Taeyong knew he would have acted the same.

“I'm a member of your fancafè.” The photographer said in his teasing yet cute manner, almost like it had to soften Doyoung up. It didn’t, especially when he added: “How was your bowling night?” 

Doyoung turned to glare at him again, “Taeyong, I’m not in the mood–”  
“I'm being a good boy, I promise.” Taeyong protested, “Have you searched your name online, these days? Your fans made up a couple name for Yuta-san and you.”  
Great way to be a good boy, Doyoung thought. Then it hit him.  
“Wait what?”  
Doyoung sent the smirking photographer a bewildered expression before he rushed to take his phone and discover – with horror – Taeyong wasn’t lying. The fact that he clearly had no idea how to react to that ‘Doyu’ tag appearing all around his name made Taeyong satisfied, if anything because it both bothered and exposed Doyoung.

The truth was, though, that Doyoung was starting to feel hopeless.

He didn't find the whole thing cute at all. He didn’t think his crush for Yuta was any cute or healthy either. He already knew that, at one point, he would have been forced to snap out this dreamy friendship with the older and the thought hurt.

Only one week and he would go back to Seoul while Yuta had his most important World Cup to play.  
By the end of summer, they would have been two continents apart. 

-

The four versions of the highly anticipated Worl Cup official song – completed of music videos – would have been presented in Doyoung’s hotel on a premiere night scheduled for the upcoming Sunday. 

Doyoung was feeling burdened. 

Not once in his lifetime he had thought to find himself part of a celebration with the biggest worldwide names of football, not even as a simple guest, but as the spotlight in a crowd of powerful people who probably had no clue about his existence, nor they cared to know. In the upcoming days, he had seen journalists and television crews from all around the globe reaching their hotel, together with Football Teams' presidents, players’ families, and businessmen of any kind.

Taeil told him some FIFA spokesmen had thought of taking advantage of the premiere night to sell the first 100 copies of the official song album, the profit destined to charity. And in all of that, of course, Yuta and him were to be under the highlight.

“I don't think I know how it's done.” Doyoung told the older nervously on Sunday afternoon. They both met with their stylists to finalise the perfect outfit for the luxurious night. “I mean, I've been to parties before, sure, but it was–in my comfort zone. In my industry.”  
Yuta simply gave him a sweet look, trying to make Doyoung relax with a little massage at his shoulders. “We’re together, though, aren’t we? We might survive.”

Doyoung inevitably melted under the other’s touch, even as he held up a teasing tone. “So comforting.”

But it did comfort him, after all.

They parted to get ready for the night and around five hours later, they met again in the huge, well-kept garden of the hotel where the party had been organised. Doyoung spotted journalists everywhere and felt impossibly small, almost threatened by the number of strangers and flashing lights he never got used to. Yuta found him staring at nothing in particular with wide-opened eyes, Doyoung almost jumping as he felt the hand posing on his shoulder.

“You look so, so handsome.”

Yuta’s greeting melted the singer immediately. He didn’t even have to meet his eyes but when he did, the feeling just hit differently. Butterflies flew in his stomach as Yuta effortlessly stole his breath away, his curly hair just gently parted on his forehead, a classy black tuxedo wrapping his slim figure teasingly as the jacket covered his bare chest with no shirt to help, then a simple, slim steel necklace stealing the lights to complete the fit. For the first time since they met, Doyoung admitted Yuta just looked too beautiful to be real.

“You look stunning.”

The honest compliment cost Yuta to blush, and Doyoung just fell a little more. If it wasn’t for the important event awaiting them, he would have probably made Yuta the centre of his world, that night. Unsurprisingly, the quick reminder that it was still a night of work hit them when a journalist from South Korea found them and asked a few questions about their collaboration, Yuta’s incredibly good Korean, their thoughts on the music video. Doyoung led the interview in honest, relaxed manners, eyeing Yuta a few times to seek for support. In about ten minutes, journalists from ten new different countries were on them.

Yuta then took the lead himself and dealt with most interviews talking advantage of his now fluent English. The assault wasn’t over until the Manchester United president came to take Yuta with him and Doyoung successfully sneaked away, reaching the buffet in a weak attempt to fix his growling stomach. After a pleasing and successful talk with a player he had previously met on the music video filming set – from Kenya, if he wasn’t mistaken – the singer then got escorted to his honour seat for the auction, beside Yuta. He found it incredibly hard to catch up with the FIFA spokesman’s opening speech, and he would have probably felt left aside if Yuta didn’t whisper bits of translation to him every time he could. 

Truth was that Doyoung was waiting for the moment he could sing, the only moment he knew he wouldn’t have felt like a fish out of water. Singing was the only thing Doyoung always felt confident and comfortable with and in a night like that, he needed his safe place more than ever. Besides, he was firmly convinced giving his best meant to remind all those big names who Kim Doyoung from South Korea was, in ways they could not forget anymore. Needless to say, getting praised by a crowd of uninterested people and only a few of his loyal fans, was a feeling and a challenge to treasure forever.

After his performance, Yuta welcomed him back to his seat with a proud smile.  
“You were amazing, Kim Doyoung.”  
“You should have sung together with me.” Came Doyoung’s grateful reply. The night flew away slowly after Yuta took hold of his hand for a moment.  
The auction lasted long and even if it turned out to be surprisingly entertaining, Doyoung still couldn’t wait for everything to end. The fact that Yuta was there beside him helped, especially when the older would whisper funny stories about most of those people Doyoung never heard before, but Doyoung still wanted to be free.

It was deep into the night when he finally found himself alone with Yuta outside the man's room balcony, two glasses of champagne in hands as they cheered on the huge success their collaboration turned out to be.

“Meeting you left a deep impression on me.” Yuta suddenly confessed, a fresh wind blowing through his long hair gently. His eyes were tenderly fixed on Doyoung and his voice sounded impossibly soothing it quickly healed the younger and his tired self. For a moment, Doyoung wondered if Yuta wanted to elaborate, and he did. “I mean that–I doubt it would be exaggerated to say I've spent the nicest three weeks of my life, here. With you.”

“It would…” Doyoung felt like everything inside him stopped working for a moment, but holding back a smile was impossible. He realised his hand flew to Yuta’s waist without him noticing, and the fact that Yuta didn’t move away was enough to feel his breath getting shorter each second. He had no idea what he wanted – or better, how to avoid a mistake – but when Yuta’s questioning eyes found his own, his mind went blackout. How could he find it wrong? Having Yuta so close, concerned eyes on his and a hand gently moving locks of hair out his thoughtful face. The man looked so beautiful in the warm lights of the city all around, his huge eyes the sweetest hole Doyoung could ever wish to fall into. Except, he couldn’t.

“I’m–so sorry.”

He was running a soft thumb on Yuta’s cheek when he decided he had to move away. Taken aback, Yuta simply looked like he had turned into stone.

“What are you apologising for?”  
Doyoung didn’t even know what to say: the sight of Yuta’s lost expression broke his heart. “I want you.”  
“I want you too...” Yuta whispered, confused.  
“I want you–so damn much.” Doyoung struggled to hold back. “Whatever you want, I want it too. Ten times more, probably. But I can't.”

The way Doyoung could see hope slowly leaving Yuta’s expression urged him to poorly elaborate. “I can't fall in love with you a bit more and then remember you'll be 8,773 km away from me.” He looked down. “I counted them.”

Struck on both the ‘fall in love’ and ‘8,773 km’ parts, Yuta decided he couldn’t tell which hurt more. 

And he felt rather stupid.

He had always been a hopeless, romantic, true-to-self person, brave and honest no matter the implications and that, in a world of no fairy tales, counted as a metaphysical, untouchable reality. And if he never, not even once denied he felt something for Doyoung almost at first sight, he never really bothered thinking about the consequences.

Doyoung, once again, came out as his perfect opposite. He was a thinker. He was concrete.

Yuta would have liked to protest and if he could, he would have put his everything into it. Yet he could nothing but accept Doyoung’s surrender and would never dare to blame him for it. If he was sure 8,773 km could not stop him from wanting the younger in his life in ways he had never wanted anybody, he could not expect Doyoung to feel the same. He could not expect them both to have the strength to make it. 

With glassy eyes, he simply took Doyoug’s hands softly into his, defeated. Anything he wanted to say just sounded so unfitting it made his throat burn. 

“You still don't know what ‘offside’ is.”

Doyoung felt like falling into pieces.

-

Going back to South Korea never felt more nauseating. 

Taeil sweetly tried to make it about jetlag, a non-existent one considering they parted from Tokyo, but Doyoung could not ignore his effort. The man then handed him a letter once their car stopped outside Doyoung’s dorm building. 

“Yuta.” Taeil simply said, and Doyoung’s heart dropped.  
When he opened the letter – tired body already on his longed bed – what he found was a small note and four tickets.

‘For your family.  
They will be happy to come to the opening match, right?  
\- Yuta’

The perfection Yuta was had already left an irreplaceable emptiness in his life.

-

Doyoung’s family was more than happy to come to the opening match. His father was just a little happier, firstly because the present was from his long-time idol, then because it was not just a simple football match: the man felt like floating higher than the clouds surrounding them on their way to Tokyo.

And if mother, brother and father all looked like their spirits had never been higher, Doyoung felt the exact opposite, low and tired, forced in a place he wouldn’t have liked to never see again.

“Can we see Yuta?” his father beamed upon their arrival, “Isn't he a friend of yours? Can't you call him?”

Doyoung tried to keep strong, chanting to himself it was just two days.

Ignoring his father's obnoxious requests, he left for a shower and told his family to enjoy the small vacation in Tokyo at their best. When he got out of the bathroom, though, the first things he saw were carts of expensive food in the room and his father wearing a depressed expression.

“Yuta is not here.”  
Doyoung couldn’t believe his ears and looked at her mother with perplexity. “I told you to enjoy the city, not to stalk Yuta.”  
As the woman shrugged, defeated, his father jumped in self-defence. “I just called the reception! They told me he left the hotel days ago.”

The idol singer reacted with firm silence, a familiar ache in the stomach making it impossible for him to hold a grudge. He didn't even know whether to feel relieved or not, but Yuta was gone. 

He was gone and Doyoung couldn’t even thank him properly, for everything.

-

Expectedly enough, the World Cup opening ceremony was a huge triumph.  
The entire stadium of fanatics served as a passionate public successfully helping the feeling of being living something big and remarkable. With them, FIFA’s meticulous organisation of the event including various performances, speeches and the official song music video being played on every big screen helped, too.  
When Yuta appeared on stage, though, the stadium simply lost it. The football player gave a touching, heartfelt speech of pride and fairness, mentioned how honoured he was to be representing Japan and Asia worldwide on such a remarkable moment of football history and when he declared competition to be officially open, the love his people felt for him was as palpable as ever. 

Doyoung couldn’t help feeling like a fish out the water the whole time. The sole enthusiasm of his family came in contrast with his quiet behaviour but when Yuta stole the show, the young man just felt unable to pretend he was okay. He watched and listened as Yuta gave his speech with the same burning passion he got struck with on the very first day and wondered if walking away hadn’t been the best choice for him. Thinking about it, Doyoung considered that Yuta was young, yet he had become one hard to die symbol in his own culture and when the pressure was so dense, what rights Doyoung had to distract him with his feelings? Feelings Doyoung himself ran away from in the first place. 

When Doyoung managed to escape his sorrowful trance, Italy-Uruguay was already playing. 

“Ah, come on, referee, are you blind?” Beside him, his father was visibly following the match with dedication, “That was offside, for God's sake!”

The earth disappeared under Doyoung’s feet. 

Protests about the offside accusation sparkled all around the stadium, loud and messy, and when the referee decided to grant Italy a penalty, Doyoung decided to move closer to his father to ask: “Dad, what is 'offside' about?”  
In the heath of the moment, the older man didn’t even realise his son had finally asked something about football, something that wasn’t his usual ‘What’s so special about it’, and he rushed to answer with his eyes glued on the field. 

“When a player is in the opponent's side of the field and doesn't have either the ball or two players from the other team between him and the goal, that’s considered a foul, and it’s generally called ‘offside’.”  
As Doyoung gave no reply – too focused on studying the game to see if he could picture the rule – his father gave him a lovingly pat on his shoulder. “Are you finally getting interested?” 

Doyoung would have liked to say yes, noticing how beaming the man was looking in that exact moment, but never in his life he hated football more.

He simply thought he had to learn things on his own, now, because Yuta was not there to help him anymore.

-

He also thought he was a masochist.

The way Doyoung would watch every match of the Japanese National Team and find himself passionate about its results just screamed ‘masochist’. It made his father happy, sure – and Doyoung needed some quality time with his family now more than ever – but the sudden interested still seemed odd.

“You don't even support our Team but God forbid you to lose Japan.” his brother considered one evening, rather affronted, but to Doyoung it sounded more like a quiet tease, and he didn’t care.

He only had eyes for Yuta.

Both South Korea and Japan were still doing extremely good and by the quarterfinals, both teams got their chance to step up into the semi-finals zone. The whole continent was boiling with excitement and in spite of that, Doyoung seemed to have forgotten his World Cup icon position and neglect it all. Unless it was about Yuta, Doyoung didn’t care. 

Except it was extremely hard for commenters, reporters and football enthusiasts not to make everything of that Japan World Cup about Yuta.

“Japan’s young prodigy once again proving he's one of the most brilliant player Asia has ever had, and why Europe loves him.” Commenters discussed during the breath-taking Japan-Australia.  
“Nakamoto’s 'smart game' has never been this exciting. Do you think he can bring Japan to the semi-finals?”  
“I'm pretty much sure he is.”

That particular match had Doyoung so tensed he was literally biting his nails. His father and brother couldn’t even focus on the game anymore when an Australian player bumped into Yuta and pushed him down ruinously on the ground, in the goal area, and Doyoung jumped from the couch.  
“What the hell are you doing, dumbass? Penalty, penalty!”

That evening, Yuta’s penalty kick brought Japan a winning goal for semi-finals and Doyoung didn’t even realise how happy it all made him, the sole thought of Yuta’s pride making him emotional. He screamed, jumped, smiled so much his heart genuinely felt healed, and it hit him. Maybe he could run away from Yuta, but Yuta could not disappear from his soul. 

He was a masochist, after all, and when he realised the entire house had been staring at him all along, he just knew for sure.

-

Japan closed the World Cup with a great third place.

Doyoung never really cared about South Korea’s final position – although it wasn’t bad at all – yet he found himself impossibly happy for Yuta when Japan gained the spot against France and vigorously fought for victory until the last second.

The praises Yuta received that night made history, just like history was made when one of the youngest pros of the World Cup rose as one of the best players of the World Cup, and fans’ favourite. That also being the Yuta’s first World Cup ever, the recognition was mind-blowing.

Doyoung went from hating football to hate it more than anything else and still crying in front of a screen when Yuta showed up, running breathlessly but still outshining the sun, to get his deserved praises with the deepest bows and just being everyone’s Nakamoto Yuta. Doyoung’s family had stopped making questions, by then, and Doyoung was grateful. The four of them were going to make a toast to their beloved football player when – from across the screen – Yuta was filmed removing his team’s shirt to reveal another shirt underneath, basic white this time, with only a small writing on the chest area.

More specifically, a short sentence in both Japanese and Korean: 

ありがとう,  
사랑해요.

There could be millions of explanations, Doyoung knew, yet the sight froze him.  
Among those million possible explanations, everyone around him had come to seemingly acknowledge only one and right then, the fact Doyoung had been the one to run away did not help. It did not help at all. 

‘Fucking do something, Kim Doyoung.’

Taeyong’s essential text helped less than anything and by the end of it, Doyoung was left as broken-hearted as ever.

-

The packed schedule for the World Cup seemed to be forgotten in a heartbeat and by the beginning of August, Doyoung had official gone back to be South Korea’s one and only Kim Doyoung, no longer the international star whose voice graced the 2020 World Cup in Tokyo.

Taeil told him he would have released a new mini-album on the 20th of the October, and that meant Doyoung only had around two months to finalise the music, the recording, the performances and everything before the release of his Christmas Album, already scheduled to release on the 15th of December.

“Is this mini-album really necessary?” he couldn't help wondering at the end of long, blasting dance practice, Taeil giving him a sympathetic smile.  
“It's for your fans.”  
Doyoung could nothing but face it. His work ethic had never stumbled nor Doyoung wanted it to, yet the fact not even killing himself with new, exhausting practice sessions could drag him out the self-commiserative hole he had fallen into by letting Yuta go talked numbers. He had no idea what to do, how to feel, and he still thought the distance between them was an issue. Maybe it just didn’t turn out to be the most painful thing. 

“Hyung.” 

When he called Taeil so suddenly, on a day off Doyoung decided to spend in his studio, Taeil rushed to his side just knowing it was serious. The singer’s voice was shaking, breathy and heavy on his chords, and the depth of the glassy eyes Taeil got to meet was heartbreaking to watch.  
“Doyoung?” 

“I need to see him.” 

-

Organising a sudden trip to London amid Doyoung’s inhuman schedule was simple, irreplaceable teamwork. 

It all started with Taeyong talking to a friend, who spoke to another friend who then spoke to another friend who eventually managed to make Doyoung’s request more tangible. Then, Taeil took care of persuading Doyoung’s company into trusting that London being chosen as the filming set for the singer’s upcoming October mini-album would have been a perfect illustration of the autumnal season, on top of helping Doyoung get a hold on the considerable international exposure the World Cup had given him. 

Finally, Doyoung simply took care of himself. 

He had made mistakes that could turn out to be unfixable but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he had no intention of accept defeat. Not anymore. He had such clear memories of the way Yuta had accepted his weakness and thinking about it now – now that his heart was feeling like banging to escape his chest – Doyoung hoped the older didn’t have to see how weak he was. If there was one little chance of proving himself stronger now, Doyoung would have taken it, even if it meant to go back to Korea with his heart completely destroyed. 

The flight to London was long and extremely tiring, and the singer’s tired mind was so full of possibilities, not even the bunch of movies he watched onboard managed to help. He tried to ignore Taeil’s snoring all along and, more than anything, his concerned gaze whenever they’d look at each other. 

“I’m fine.” Doyoung promised, and even if he did not believe it himself, the closer to their destination they’d get, the more resolute he felt. 

“I’m truly fine.”

-

Yuta had never felt more shattered. 

The thing hurting the most was that he could tell nobody how he was feeling.  
Who would have dared to listen to his heartbreak romance parenthesis when he had just brought home the biggest success his career ever faced? Who would have felt sorry he had lost someone who could make his heart shine when he had spent his entire life just waiting for his moment to shine in a World Cup competition? He did not know if anybody would have sincerely tried to understand his feeling, and he preferred to take no risk. The only person who could see beyond his career success and worry about the human Yuta tried to bury under his football player title was his older sister, and the only thought the woman was too far away to allow himself to break down imposed him to pretend everything was fine.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home for a while?”  
Yuta considered the offer for long, immersed in an icy silence he eventually broke with a few, wordless sounds. He had no intention of falling into the weight of self-commiseration and the only way to avoid it – to avoid falling further into those feelings he just couldn’t shut – was practicing. Practicing as hard as ever, as he just hadn’t wrapped up an extremely stressful World Cup. His first World Cup, above all.

And even if it was true he had waited for this one only moment to shine his whole life, with the unexpected opportunity to do it his own country, he couldn’t hate Doyoung or blame him for his current unhappiness. What were the chances, after all? That he fell in love in the midst of one of the most stressful moments in his life? That he realised getting his heart stolen from something other than football could give him so much strength? No matter how painful it was to think about it now, what Doyoung had given him in three, short weeks was unforgettable enough for Yuta to treasure the memories, the feelings, and Doyoung himself, even if it was over. 

Needless to say, when he got offered an interview for GQ later in August, his enthusiasm struggled to show up. It was a magnificent opportunity and his own team had told him to expect numerous of those offers after the World Cup, but it still came in a moment when Yuta wasn’t keen to open up to strangers. 

When he learnt the name of his photographer for the pictorial, then, his irritation turned into melancholy. 

He got really nothing against Lee Taeyong, but the thought of meeting someone related to Doyoung in a moment like that made his stomach twist in both uneasiness and awkwardness. 

Unsurprisingly enough, Lee Taeyong greeted him upon his arrival in London with his relaxing kindness, avoiding mentioning Doyoung and simply proceeding with their photo-shoot in the lightest atmosphere. Yuta couldn’t say it aloud, but he was grateful. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you again.” Taeyong told him eventually, through a gentle handshake. As Yuta reciprocated the kindness, the photographer then added, “I know I shouldn’t bother you with such things again but–my sister will give me death if I at least don’t try to get her an autograph, too. Would you mind…?” 

With a light chuckle, Yuta shook his head. “Would only be a pleasure.” 

He watched as the other cutely gestured to follow him – probably to grab something Yuta could sign – and the sight was soft enough for the player to obey with an even lighter heart. When they reached a little room in the back of the photo-shoot set, Taeyong asked him to go inside and gave no more instructions apart from a short “Wait here, please.” 

Puzzled, Yuta did as asked, slightly widening his eyes when Taeyong closed the door on him. 

“Taeyong?”

“Don’t blame him.”

Yuta froze.  
The familiar voice coming so sudden an unexpected from behind made his heart jump in both fright and surprise. He turned around slowly, almost wary, and then he heard it again. “He risked his whole career for this.”

“Doyoung.” Yuta whispered, unwilling to believe it, but when the voice came out his shelter behind a further door in the room, his heart jumped and he could feel it stuck in his throat. 

From his position, the younger man offered an apologetic, insecure smile. He hesitantly moved closer with his breath short meeting the other again. He looked so beautiful.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” 

The football player turned around completely, eyes almost shaking but the smile slowly forming on his lips as sweet as it had always been, only with a little shade of disbelief more. Doyoung thought it was unexplainable, how much he had missed him.  
Short in both breath and words, he erased the distance between them and attempted breaking that dense atmosphere by taking a gentle hold of Yuta’s hands.

Everything around them seemed to disappear.

“What are you doing here?” Yuta asked in another whisper, so scared of the many possibilities he felt like throwing up.  
“I'm here to confess…Hopefully–You're here to accept me.”

The evident fear in Doyoung’s features and his shaking voice came in deep contrast with the tender way he came to stroke Yuta’s hands with his thumbs.

“I can't go on any longer, knowing we are separated hearts and bodies. I was just–weak for thinking some kilometre could keep me away from you.”  
“8,773.” Yuta corrected, slow because each of those numbers stabbed him ever since Doyoung first mentioned them. Guilty, the younger held his hands tighter.

“I thought I’d be scared of them, but the truth is I haven’t stopped trying to find a way to erase them.” One of his hands flew to Yuta’s face, to hesitantly touch it with his fingertip. “Ever since I gave up, I’ve just wanted to erase them.” 

Voicing his feelings like that – with Yuta’s huge eyes staring at him like his words were his only hope – Doyoung knew he was doing the right thing, and it gave him a strength he never felt before. He sensed his world twisting upside down radically, like all the limits he had forced himself to, had been destroyed.

He had always needed Yuta to grow into a better person.

So he moved closer, running a soft thumb on Yuta’s cheek like that night on the balcony, but hoping it could take them to a better ending, this time. When he felt the body in his hands melting at the touch, he held him even closer. 

“Don’t–leave me again.” Yuta turned to the side, just to gently touch his Doyoung’s hand with his lips, “You still don't know what 'offside' is.”

“A rule of football claiming a foul when a player is on the opponent side of the field and has no ball nor two players from the opponent team between him and the goal.”

When Doyoung looked down to Yuta, he couldn't help a fond giggle at the sight of the confused expression on the man’s features. Immediately wanting to erase it, he softly brushed his lips against Yuta’s.

“I studied, but this doesn't mean I'll ever leave you again. There are still so many things I have to learn.”  
Yuta held his breath at the touch, “About football?”  
“About love.”

It was a feeling Doyoung learnt he could never renounce to again, the one of kissing a smiling Yuta. He felt his words giving both so much life he couldn’t wait a second longer and when he gently pressed their lips together, feeling the older smiling against him sparkled unimaginable emotions inside him. It was just a soft, gentle touch but when they parted, Yuta was still smiling and he looked like the most beautiful thing Doyoung had ever seen. 

“You're the only one I can learn with.” He continued, kind of uselessly, and Yuta nodded.  
“I better be.” 

It was Yuta kissing him this time, and his resoluteness was such that Doyoung felt his breath gone missing. The older finally captured his lips in a longed, loving but intense kiss that forced his senses completely out of him. Yuta kissed him with gratefulness but held onto him with fear at the same time, only needing Doyoung to keep him close and promise he wouldn’t let go again. 

When they parted, bashfully smiling and looking down at their hands meeting again, Doyong brushed their foreheads together.

“8,773 km and I still fell for you a bit more every day.”

-

Going back to the ordinary had been one of the hardest things Doyoung ever faced.  
Yuta and him could spend no more than four days together, in London, but those days turned out to be enough for them to regain all the wasted time. They talked about the World Cup, about Yuta’s success and the passion Doyoung would feel watching him from afar. They talked about Yuta’s shirt on worldwide TV and he hoped Doyoung would understand, and how he clearly did. They talked about the strength found back in each other’s arms and finally, Yuta asked him to make love to him. 

And Doyoung did. 

Seoul greeted him back as the dullest place in the world as he remembered Yuta wouldn’t be there, but the memories shared with the older were long to leave his heart, mind and skin anyway. He had barely managed to get all the work for his mini-album done before coming back, and having Yuta there to support him for the first time on a solo activity was incredible enough to think he would have loved that mini-album more than expected, after all. 

After its success, Doyoung convinced Taeil to set up a meeting to discuss the possibility of leaving the singer freedom to own an apartment. When Yuta got his first period off since the beginning of the new competition season – during Christmas – he was more than astonished to be welcomed in a warm, modest but cosy apartment Doyoung called ‘ours’. And there, finally meeting again after long months, they both knew that 8,773 km could nothing against the profound sentiment they were fated to share.

It could be stressful, longing could often last couples of interminable months, but everything was worth the wait once they could meet again and use every minute to love each other dearly. 

When Yuta could stay home for a longer period – like during summer breaks or Christmas holidays – Doyoung would make sure to fight for at least one concert for the older to attend. He knew Yuta found no greater joy in watching his man doing the thing he loved the most, singing the songs Yuta would listen to when far away, to make longing feel a little less unbearable.  
Then, it would just be them: an ordinary couple with time to claim back and to love each other like no continents were ever there to part them. 

One of the things Yuta loved the most about reuniting with Doyoung in Korea – before he would leave for his own country and, possibly, take the singer along to Osaka – was his family-in-law.

Doyoung’s father could not believe his ears when his son finally confessed of dating Yuta – no other than the one and only Nakamoto Yuta – and after a long moment of stunned silence he simply broke out yelling in both betrayal and disbelief.  
“My son is a traitor.” He exclaimed when Doyoung introduced Yuta to them, already making the whole house fall into laughter, “Just know that I’ve loved you since way earlier.” 

Overall, no member of Doyoung’s family missed the chance to welcome him like he was family, and the thing Yuta took to heart more was that no matter the jokes or their evident admiration toward him, those people welcomed him as a son, and never as the notorious football celebrity of a distant world. The comfortable feeling of messing with Doyoung all together while still clearly loving him dearly made their bond unbreakable and in a short while, everything became ordinary.

Doyoung’s older brother would still mock Doyoung over his passionate shouting at the TV whenever Yuta was playing and to Yuta, nothing seemed softer than his boyfriend not so secretly going crazy over his matches. 

Needless to say, Doyoung likes football a lot more, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Only a few notes on this work:  
\- The World Cup date and place have been modified to fit the needs of the story, some football fans might notice  
\- This is the best attempt of redemption of an old old fic I wrote for a different fandom long ago. After ISAC and after football player Yuta stole my heart just one time more, I decided to make it a Doyu and hopefully everyone can see why I felt the was extremely fitting for them ㅠㅠ 
> 
> Thank you to whoever will stumble here and enjoy their time <3


End file.
